


Far to Go

by lazarus_girl



Series: Brittana Week 2013 [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:45:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Brittany and Santana find themselves in a very different kind of long distance relationship, technology bridges the gap between them, but is it close enough?</p><p>
  <i>“Time doesn’t run backwards, no matter how much she might want it to.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far to Go

**Author's Note:**

> Set post S4. Follows canon until 4x21 and departs thereafter. Written for day three of [Brittana Week](http://brittana-week.tumblr.com) (Film/TV Crossover). Based on and inspired by the short film [_Get Back_](http://vimeo.com/64641161#at=0), directed by Eliot Rausch. Click [here](https://31.media.tumblr.com/68542ce6357a963e8ca71757331d8513/tumblr_n3ops0iBOk1txkikoo3_500.png) to see the accompanying art. Thank you, as ever, to [@cargoes](http://cargoes.tumblr.com) for her beta skills and cheerleading.

***

 _"You're always in a rush, or else you're too exhausted to have a proper conversation._  
 _Soon enough, the long hours, the traveling, the broken sleep have all crept into_  
 _your being and become part of you, so everyone can see it, in your posture,_  
 _your gaze, the way you move and talk."_  
– Kazuo Ishiguro, _Never Let Me Go_.

***

_Brittany Pierce: I miss you._

Santana stares at the message window, half asleep, because it’s late where she is and early where Brittany is right now, messaging her from a crowded café in Berlin eating breakfast while she’s trying to stay awake after a long shift at Coyote Ugly, staving off the urge to finish the last of Kurt’s leftover pizza. She shuffles back against her pillows trying to find a comfortable position, wishing she’d stayed in the living room instead of coming to bed. It’d be all too easy to snuggle under her duvet and drift off. Her hands hover over the keyboard of her laptop as she tries to think of a response. It’s such an empty phrase. She knows that Brittany means it, because Brittany means everything she says, whether she’s actually speaking those words or typing them to her in a message – she has so many emails from Brittany now they sit in their own folder in her inbox.

_To: snixlopez@gmail.com_  
 _From: brittpierce@gmail.com_  
 _Subject: AMAZING_

_Santana,_

_I hope you’re doing OK and the weather is better in New York. I know it’s been a while since we could talk. Where do I start? Rome is beyond awesome, you’d love it. You’d love everything, all the clothes and the shoes and the people! It’s just beautiful. Really. Oh, and the food! My God it’s so good, I’ve probably gained, like a hundred pounds or something!_

_I got to ride on a scooter today, a Vespa, like Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday! Rachel will be super jealous, the instructor guy kind of looked like Gregory Peck too, except his name was Angelo, and he’s not as old. I’m forgetting so many things right now. I suck! Are you watching the videos and reading the blog? Is anyone?_

_Say hey to everyone for me. I miss you._

_Love, Britt xxxxx_

It’s just that, they’ve said these words so many times that they’re starting to lose meaning, like the snatches of French and Italian phrases or odd British slang that Brittany’s tried to teach her over the last few months while she zigzags her way across Europe, and they make no sense to her whatsoever. Mostly because Santana’s stuck in the grind of New York – a steady diet of work, eat, sleep until she’s forced to go to a party or a club under duress – just as lonely as she ever was, but this time, it’s not her fault. It’s no one’s fault really. That’s what makes this hard.

_Santana Lopez: I miss you too xx_

It’s at that point of the conversation, well after midnight for her, where the excitement of sharing new experiences about people Brittany’s met and places she’s been – a long list of landmarks slowly being run down – has faded, and they’re in that sombre, reflective place, where the reality of the fact they’re hundreds of miles apart, on different continents really starts to bite. Santana can deal with that, tolerate it now even, because she’s become used to not having Brittany constantly at her side, but what she can’t get over is that tension, that pull she always feels toward Brittany, and it’s really starting to sting when all she wants it to do is mellow.

In all honesty, they’re past the point where anything she says has value. That sounds like she doesn’t care, but she does – she can’t _not_ care when to comes to Brittany – and it’s seriously bleak, and it might be tiredness talking or distance talking or both talking like they always do, but it’s been months since they’ve been in the same country let alone the same room. Trying to maintain something with Brittany – she doesn’t know what to call it, because they’re not broken up, but they’re not back together either, they’re … in-between – is difficult, and she wants to, she really wants to, but she doesn’t know how. Not anymore. Too much time has passed and too many things have changed.

Now, when she looks back at old videos of them she still has saved on her phone – she doesn’t have the heart to delete them, no matter how sad they make her – it looks like someone else; a clone or a distant relative, because it kind of looks like them, but there’s not enough similarity to who they’ve become to see the connection. They’re so young and carefree, so in love that she can feel it, radiating off the screen. That last summer before Louisville, their last real summer, their last real everything, is a lifetime ago. Those feelings are still there, she knows, deep down, because they’ve never really gone away, but she thinks it’s getting weaker, and if she were able to look, it’d be harder to find, even if she had a map.

_“Come on, San, come into the water! It feels good! Put the phone down.”_

_“What? You look hot in a bikini. You’ve got that whole Bond Girl thing going, and I really like how it looks from here. Comfortable, right here in the sand, and not in the sea.”_

_“Come swim with me instead of videoing everything.”_

_“No way! I’ll get my hair wet, and it’ll be gross and frizzy and I’ll look like Donna fricken Summer or some shit.”_

_“I like your hair like that. It’s cute. I like all of you. Please? It’s no fun by myself.”_

_“Don’t do the eyes.”_

_“What eyes?”_

_“Those eyes, Brittany Susan Pierce! Fine. Jesus, I’ll come swim. You’re lucky I love you so much.”_

All Santana can think now, as Brittany types her reply and Santana flips through photographs of the city that Brittany’s already shared with her, is of how much time she wasted. Time she planned out meticulously, propping up her life and her reputation with phone calls and texts to boys she didn’t really care for who didn’t really care for her either; while Brittany sat next to her, patiently waiting, secretly knowing that one day, it’d be her turn, even if those days now feel painfully brief. Time she wilfully let go of by being stubborn; saying no instead of yes whenever Brittany challenged her and dared to want a girl who was a little braver. A girl who wanted for more. Time she lost without planning for it at all by keeping quiet instead of saying her true feelings out loud. She was so busy trying to distract herself, to make her world about anything other than Brittany, that Brittany became her world instead, but Santana never really had time to appreciate her, be even the tiniest bit grateful or show the love she always felt. Time doesn’t run backwards, no matter how much she might want it to.

_Brittany Pierce: I wish you were here with me. It’s fun and everything, just like I knew it would be, but it’s not the same without you._

In one way or another, Santana’s seen almost every part of this trip: Every photograph, every tweet, text, Facebook post, and video Brittany’s sent her and the rest of the world; seeing Brittany’s wonder at seeing something new, and her genuine love for showing people things and sharing her perspective, so in a weird way, it feels like she has been there. All that technology has made it so Brittany is back with her in the click of a mouse or the tap of screen. It’s made her close, but not nearly close enough. She doesn’t want to spoil it, because Brittany seems so happy, and when she looks back on their time together, all Santana can think is that she excelled in making Brittany anything _but_ happy.

Santana sighs, raking a hand through her hair as she steadies her laptop on her knees, not really knowing where to start. It’s been a long time coming, what she’s about to say, or, attempt to say. Brittany probably knows, because they’ve skirted around having this conversation ever since she decided to go travelling in the first place, differing her place at MIT and going against just about everyone’s wishes, from her parents, to Figgins, Mr Schue and Miss Pillsbury (Mrs Schuester, whatever), and the professors who wanted her in their classes so much. Making Brittany stay for the summer would’ve made her happy (and probably Brittany too for a while), but she deserves more than that. She deserves to find out the kind of person she can be beyond what everyone tells her, and to find out who that person really is once they don’t have school, and Glee Club and Cheerios to fill up their day.

Santana’s still learning where that’s concerned, and maybe it’s a process that never really stops. It would’ve been selfish to force Brittany to stay, no matter how much she wanted her to. She’s had time away in the real world, while Brittany was stuck in Lima, dragging herself through repeating senior year. How could Santana possibly deny her the opportunity to choose where to go and what to do and have her first real taste of freedom? She couldn’t, so she ended up driving her to the airport and clinging to her through yet another teary goodbye instead. She could’ve gone with her, she knows that, and Brittany asked her countless times, confused as to why she wouldn’t want to spend time with her. She’s not that attached any of her jobs, and Kurt and Rachel would’ve understood, but that would’ve been another kind of selfishness. She’d be gatecrashing something Brittany wanted to do, she also deserves to know what it’s like not to be tied down to someone and have a life of her own. They’d only resent each other in the end, and that’s the worst feeling in the world, because it’s still born from some kind of love and respect, no matter how warped, and she’s never wanted them to become those kind of people.

_Brittany Susan Pierce @BrittPierce  
Off on an awfully big adventure. Going to share every step. You’re all invited! xxx_

Things are never simple, and she’s never been able explain why she carried on supporting Brittany’s plans when all she wanted her to do was stay instead of go. Once things with Trouty hit the skids, pretty much right after the post-graduation happiness wore off, there was nothing stopping her going after Brittany again, and showing that whiny, possessive asshole that she was right when she said she’d never give up. But Brittany isn’t just some toy who can be picked up and put down; she’s her own person. It’s Brittany’s choice if she wants to take her back; Santana lost any claim a long time ago and she knows it.

Rachel and Kurt think she’s stupid – moronic to be exact – because they were so very close to being together again, and that’s all Santana’s wanted ever since they broke up. Life doesn’t give you take backs either. There’s no do over. You do, and then you die, and Santana’s finding that she’s regretting most of what happens in between. If take backs existed, she and Brittany would be the kind of together that sticks and never gets unstuck, and though they wouldn’t need a ring or a piece of paper to prove it, she’d marry her, and that wedding would go without a hitch. Rachel would probably still catch the flowers and Quinn would still get drunk off her ass and hook-up with someone, but they’d say their vows and get their first dance. They’d make it. Right up until Brittany left, all Santana wanted was to have her come and live in the loft with her and everyone else– thinking about it keeps her awake at night, long after Brittany’s signed off. Brittany would fit here; New York is her kind of place. She’d fit perfectly, round their little family of misfits out.

_Brittany Pierce: Are you still there? Did you fall asleep? I know it’s late for you. Don’t try and stay up if you’re tired, you have work. We can talk another time._

Santana’s startled by the chime when the new message pops up, quickly replying so Brittany doesn’t disappear.

_Santana Lopez: Still here. Sorry I just have a lot on my mind. You know I think too much._

_Brittany Pierce: What are you thinking about?_

She looks at the screen and wonders what to say. In the end, she goes for the truth, because she’s trying to be more truthful with people. Letting Brittany go on thinking that she’s been dealing with all this isn’t a lie exactly, but Santana knows it isn’t the whole truth either.

_Santana Lopez: You._

The second she hits send, she feels lighter, and before she realises, she’s typing again, and signal that shows Brittany’s typing too goes away.

_Santana Lopez: I’ve been thinking about how proud I am of you, for setting off on this journey, because it’s so brave, and I couldn’t even leave the state for such a long time! I’m a total scaredy-cat, but you already know that._

_Brittany Pierce: You have to take risks sometimes. I just wanted to try. Some really smart girl told me to aim higher once. This is higher._

Santana smiles sadly at the screen, typing a happy emoji instead, even though it doesn’t quite fit because all of this is bittersweet.

_Santana Lopez: I’m really glad you did. I’m really glad you are. You deserve the best, B x_

_Brittany Pierce: I don’t. Not yet._

_Brittany Pierce: We’re not in the same place._

She gapes at the screen, because _that’s_ not what she expected at all. Not now. She didn’t dare.

_Santana Lopez: Would you like us to be?_

_Brittany Pierce: More than anything._

_Santana Lopez: Me too._

She goes for broke now, because fuck it, what has she got to lose? She doesn’t have to look Brittany in the face; she can just get it all out and be done. OK so, bottling up her feelings and then pouring them all out is a really bad habit, but she’s trying not to hold back for so long. Brittany’s not back in Lima for at least another month, and there’s no way she can hold it in for that long.

_Santana Lopez: When I said I missed you. It’s true. I do miss you. I think about you all the time. I know that’s silly because we’re in contact all the time, more than when you were at school even, but it’s not enough._

_Santana Lopez: I miss being close to you. I miss your smile. I miss watching you laugh. I miss watching you dance. I miss watching you sleep. I miss kissing you awake. I miss touching your skin and knowing how it makes you feel. I miss how soft your hair is. I miss your smell. I miss your taste. I miss being your friend. I miss being your girlfriend. I miss loving you. I miss being in love with you. I miss it all._

_Santana Lopez: I miss everything, Britt. Every tiny little thing, and I know I shouldn’t, and I’ve got no right to, because I was the one who decided we should break up and I didn’t even talk to you about it. I’ve been miserable ever since._

She’s still typing even though the keys are starting to blur before her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks when her phone starts to ring. Brittany’s name flashes up on the screen. It sounds too loud in the depth of the dark, and she fumbles to answer it, hoping it won’t wake the others before she’s able to.

Brittany speaks first, her voice cracking on the line. She’s sniffing back tears.

_“Oh Santana, why didn’t you tell me?”_

She sighs, moving her laptop off to the side and settling against the pillows again. “I think I just did.”

_“You know what I mean.”_

“I don’t know. I just … I know you’re tired of people telling you what to do and I didn’t want make you choose between me and travelling. That’s not fair. You had a life before me.”

_“Why do you do that all the time?”_

There’s an edge to Brittany’s voice, and she flinches at it. “What?”

_“Think that you don’t deserve love? That you don’t deserve me?”_

Her reply is simple, and quick, “Because … it’s true.”

_“No it’s not. It’s so not, Santana. You do. You deserve all those things. We deserve to try again, because I won’t let you walk away another time.”_

“Britt, I –”

 _“I’m not finished,”_ Brittany cuts her off, stern, and Santana quiets. _”I’ve been thinking about you too. If you want to let me go again, you’re gonna have to fight me, because once I’m back home, I’m never letting go of you. Ever. You’re stuck with me and that’s just the way it’s going to be. I told you once that I loved you more than anything in this world, well, I’ve seen a whole lot more of it now, and I still know it’s true.”_

They hang up not long after that, Brittany telling her to get some sleep and think about what she’s said. Santana has every intention of sleeping, shutting down her laptop, and setting her alarm before settling underneath her covers. In the end, she doesn’t sleep, but she does think, staring at the ceiling until sunlight comes pouring in weakly through the window, and Rachel comes with her usual cup of morning coffee that they sip in silence until the caffeine hits. She wants to tell her, just because it’ll be nice to have someone to freak out with, but she doesn’t want to jinx it, just in case. Brittany might wake up tomorrow and decide that was all said in the heat of the moment, just a knee-jerk reaction to what Santana had told her. All she can do is wait, and hope.

She can barely concentrate at work, and gets bitched at by her boss when she breaks two glasses and gives the wrong change, checking her phone every two seconds for texts or missed calls. Ordinarily, she’d give as good as she gets, but she’s got bigger things on her mind, so she doesn’t even put up a fight over losing some pay to cover the glasses. She just gets through the day, keeping busy and doing as she’s told. As the baby Coyote, she has the most to prove, and boy, does she prove it. Instead of going home to an empty loft – because Rachel, Kurt and Adam are still in class – she works a double shift; glad of the money, pushing through even though she’s dead on her feet, and it gets her a look of grudging respect from Nicole and Michaela (or rather, Cassidy and Alex) into the bargain. Her signature song, Heart’s ‘Barracuda’ is second nature by now; to the point that she kind of hates the damn thing, and hates the fact ‘Rosario’ is insanely popular whether it’s ladies night or not. Today, she goes all out. She flirts, she teases, getting some geeky little college freshman to dance with her, going all out to nail the notes that she’d usually cheat on.

During the ride home on the subway, she falls asleep, lulled by the motion of the train, but some kid next to her wearing those Beats headphones elbows her in the side, jolting her awake, saying they’re close to Bushwick. She’s seen him every day since she moved here, and they’ve never said a word to each other before now, but today she smiles and nods her thanks, and he lets her get off first. There’s still no one home, and weirder still, there’s not even a note from Rachel on the fridge either, and Santana’s kind of gotten attached to her mama bear routine, even if it is nauseatingly sweet and annoying as fuck sometimes. She settles for that leftover pizza now. Even though it’s pretty much the most disgusting thing she’s ever eaten, she still finds herself wolfing down half a slice before she’s even crossed the kitchen, checking her phone again as she goes. There’s nothing. She’s not surprised, because what happened last night is a lot to deal with, but she’s kind of sad. The only other time she hasn’t gotten some kind of message was the day after they broke up, and then there was nothing for one torturously long week, until she gave in called her. All they did was listen to each other breathing on the line for a few seconds, before things descended into sobbing.

This time, she won’t give in. Finishing the last of the pizza, she pockets her phone, shrugs off her jacket and throws down her purse, not caring where it lands, sinking gratefully into the busted-up armchair she found that Kurt’s still trying to fix. It might look a little worse for wear, but it’s ridiculously comfortable. Better than that fucking ugly couch anyway. She pulls off her boots at last, practically crying with relief, flexing her toes against the floor. If she had the energy, she’d run herself a bath and just languish in it until the water grew cold and her skin got all wrinkly, like she used to do at home with Brittany, because there’s no one to yell at her for hogging it or using up the hot water, but she’s too tired. That familiar heaviness from working too long has settled in her bones, and she’s fighting sleep.

Another noise jolts her awake, a loud knocking on the loft door. She glances around, disorientated, and she’s cross at herself for falling asleep in the first place, and surprised to find herself still alone. She glances over at the clock in the kitchen, seeing that it’s well after eleven at night. The knocking comes again, more insistent than before. She groans, because it’s probably Brody, sniffing around to win Rachel back _again_ or their landlord, Clyde, chasing them for the rent. Either way, they’re going to get a piece of her damn mind. She’s got little patience for either of them at the best of times, never mind when she’s pissed because her sleep’s been disturbed. Reluctantly, she drags herself to the door, rubbing her eyes with one hand and smoothing down her hair with the other.

“Plastic Man, I know you have limited brain capacity, but really, how many times to do you need to be told? Rachel isn’t interested!” she yells, exasperated. “Turn around and go before I call the cops and you can add a fucking restraining order to your shining list of accomplishments!”

She yawns as she slides open the door, which seems to take much more effort than it should, ready to square up and give her best glare at whoever is on the other side. When she opens her eyes, she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. It’s not Clyde or Brody; it’s Brittany, loaded down with bags, wearing the same clothes as she was in yesterday’s YouTube video, weary and dishevelled from hours of travelling, but somehow more beautiful than Santana’s ever remembers. For a moment, she forgets to breathe. Her hair looks blonder, her eyes bluer, and her skin still carries that gorgeous light tan she gets in the summer even though it’s well into the fall.

Her jaw drops, eyes probably bugging out of her head as she whispers, “Brittany,”

“Hi. Sorry I’m not Brody,” she gives a dorky little wave, and smiles shyly, switching her backpack from one shoulder to the other. “Or maybe I’m not because you sounded really angry.”

“Britt, what are you doing here?” Santana shakes her head in disbelief, confused, wondering if she’s still asleep and this is all a very vivid dream. If she swipes her hand in front of her, Brittany will probably turn out to be a hologram and disappear before her eyes.

“I got tired of missing you, so I decided to come home,” Brittany shrugs, matter-of-fact.

Santana steps back to let her inside. “But what about the rest of the trip? All the other countries on your map,” she’s babbling, tripping over her words as she tries to make sense of it. “You gave up and came all this way just because of what I said? Oh Britt, I didn’t want you to change your plans.”

“Yes,” Brittany begins, dropping her bag down and moving closer to her. “I used the last of my money and booked a plane ticket. Then I got lost and missed the right stop on the subway, but I didn’t change my plan. The plan changed me,” she pauses, making sure Santana is taking it all in, eyes glistening with tears as she cups Santana’s face with both hands. “I came all this way _because_ of you, because of what you mean to me. I know you did everything because you love me. I did this, I’m doing this, because I love you.”

Even if she could find something to say, she’s too choked up to even _think_ of speaking, tears rolling silently down her cheeks without her noticing, she doesn’t get the opportunity to, because suddenly, the distance between them – inches instead of miles – is gone. Brittany’s mouth is on hers, warm and soft but insistent. It just feels right, beyond right, to be doing this. Santana sighs into the kiss, wrapping her arms around Brittany’s neck, leaning up on her toes to reach. As it deepens, and Brittany’s fingers thread through her hair, she knows she was right to say what she did. All the longing, the awkwardness and the uncertainty is gone. Brittany is home again. They have another chance.


End file.
